


A Love Like That

by Saber_Wing



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Blood and Injury, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Drama, Established Relationship, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Protective Steve Rogers, Romance, Superhusbands (Marvel), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Tony managed to retract the rest of the helmet and his right gauntlet as he dropped to his knees. He tasted blood; felt it draining in rivulets down his chin, and he reached up with his bare hand, gingerly cradling his cheek. He could feel missing chunks of skin beneath his fingers – deep, sharp lines carved into his flesh.Someone touched his shoulder.“You all right over here, Shellhead? Don't tell me that guy actually sucker-punched the smirk off your....oh, shit.” Tony could hear it in Clint's voice the moment he saw the blood dripping onto the ground. “Shit!”Tony takes a hit. His team is not pleased.





	A Love Like That

Tony, quite literally, never knew what hit him.

One moment, he was sure the battle was over, raising his faceplate to breathe some fresh air. The next, his head was snapping back, sharp metal claws tearing into the exposed flesh of his cheek. The force of the blow sent Tony reeling, crashing twenty feet backward, and into the cliff-face behind him.

Tony managed to retract the rest of the helmet and his right gauntlet as he dropped to his knees. He tasted blood; felt it draining in rivulets down his chin, and he reached up with his bare hand, gingerly cradling his cheek. He could feel missing chunks of skin beneath his fingers – deep, sharp lines carved into his flesh.

Someone touched his shoulder.

“You all right over here, Shellhead? Don't tell me that guy sucker-punched the smirk off your.... oh, shit.” Tony could hear it in Clint's voice the moment he saw the blood dripping onto the ground. “Shit!”

The entire right side of his face was on _fire._ Every movement was agony. But one glimpse at Clint’s face said it all—he looked seriously freaked out, and that was _not_ okay with Tony. He tried to speak, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “I'm okay.”

“The hell you are. Guys! Call S.H.I.E.LD. back. Tell them to have medics standing by. Shellhead's hurt! _”_

And, _fuck_ did it ever hurt.

A set of booted feet skidded to a stop beside them. Tony blinked dazedly up at their owner – Steve – as the other man crouched in front of him. “Tony?” The captain reached out, tilting his chin up. “You still with us, Avenger?”

Tony tried to think of something clever to say, but somehow, the only word he managed was, “Ouch.”

“Shh. Let me see.” Steve coaxed Tony's hand away, prodding the wounds. Gauging how deep they were. 

“Be gentle. It's my first time.” 

Steve scoffed, shaking his head. He tore a strip of cloth from his uniform, cupping Tony's face as he pressed it to his wounded cheek. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is on the way. We'll get you patched up; I promise.” 

Tony sank fully to the ground, half-surprised to find Hawkeye still hovering. The archer settled down beside him, allowing Tony to lean on his shoulder, and while he was humiliated to find that he needed the support, he was eternally grateful for it. 

Tony was pretty sure there were at least two teeth loose at the back of his mouth. They kept shifting every time he tried to speak. Even just thinking about that made him want to throw up, so instead, he focused on Steve. On the strong hands cupping his face, thumb rubbing slow circles into his uninjured cheek.

Tony leaned into Steve's touch, squeezing his eyes shut as the world spun. He felt absurdly light-headed, which just seemed _excessive_. How much blood had he lost, anyway?

The other Avengers hovered anxiously on the sidelines, busy with keeping their super-villain charges subdued until S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived. Tony could feel their eyes on him, though he couldn't find the energy to admonish them for it. Alarming.

More alarming was how much time he managed to lose. Tony must have blacked out for a few minutes, because the next thing he knew, those warm, strong hands were pulling away from him. Someone with vinyl gloves, and less desirable hands took their place.

“Mr. Stark? We're gonna take care of you, okay? Can you remove your armor for us? We need to load you up on the stretcher.”

Like hell they did. Tony stumbled drunkenly to his feet, shrugging two startled medics out of the way. They hovered uncertainly, alarmed, before Steve stepped in, slipping an arm around his waist with a fond – if strained – smile.

“Just tell me where you want him.”

Tony huffed. He could walk just fine, thanks, but Steve was touching him, and honestly, he was all about that life.

He must have said the words out loud, because Steve shook his head, exacerbated.

Something about his demeanor gave Tony pause. There was worry in his eyes. A frayed edge, lingering beneath his control. And his shoulders were wrought with tension, though he tried to rally another smile when he caught Tony staring.

“Don't be difficult. Just let them take care of you.” Tony's heart stuttered as Steve held him closer, lips ghosting over his ear. “Let _me_ take care of you. Okay?”

And just how the hell was he supposed to say no to that? He kept his mouth shut and let Steve help him up the ramp into the S.H.I.E.L.D. tri-carrier. And if Tony leaned on him just a bit more than necessary, well, nobody else had to know. Besides, despite all his bravado, he _was_ in quite a bit of pain. It crashed over him in waves, and the nausea was only getting worse. It was almost a relief when they finally reached the med-bay.

The next hour or so passed in a haze. Tony drifted, pleasantly muzzy headed from whatever concoction of drugs they'd given him. When he finally came fully back to himself, he was lying on a cot and his armor was gone, despite having no memory of removing it, or authorizing anyone to do so. Steve was still there, but with his back to Tony, talking on his cell phone. And he used the word 'talking' loosely.

Cap wasn't shouting, exactly, but there was an elevation in his tone. A clipped quality to the words, and if that wasn't an immediate red flag, Tony didn't know what was. He pushed himself carefully into a sitting position, straining to hear the conversation.

“I don't see how blaming Tony for the backlash is going to help anything.” There was real venom in the words – poison, that most didn't think America's golden boy was even capable of. “He's gonna be fine, by the way. Not that you've bothered to ask.”

Tony's heart fluttered. Steve defending him, with fire in his eyes and steel in his spine? It did things to him, not all of them lewd.

Most of them, though. God, he was so hot right now.

Steve paced as he spoke into the receiver again, practically vibrating with tension. “No. Don't turn this around on them! My team was exemplary out there today, Fury. Iron Man most of all. And honestly, if you can't be bothered to come admonish us in person, on one of your own tri-carriers, I can't see how _we_ should be bothered either. If you'll excuse me, _Sir._ I have a wounded teammate to see to. Have fun with your media circus.”

Steve snapped the phone shut with an irritable huff. Tony had never been more grateful he'd designed a modern 'flip' phone for anyone, if only to see Captain America himself hang up on one of the most important men in the world – with as much flare as possible.

“Good talk?” Tony quipped, wobbling a bit as he swung his legs over the mattress. They must have given him the strong stuff, because his face was still partially numb, and he couldn't feel a damn thing.

“Oh yeah, the best.” Steve rolled his eyes as he made his way over to Tony, though the way they glimmered with anger made his breath hitch in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with his injuries. “Of all the self-righteous, idiotic things to say. If his people hadn't screwed up so badly, those villains never would have broken out in the first place, and he has the _nerve-”_

“What's Commander Stick-Up-His-Ass blaming us for now?”

Steve scowled. His lips were a thin, tight line, pressed together with barely suppressed rage. “A particularly brave press helicopter managed to follow us to the site of the battle. They caught the tail end. The parts where the bad guys trash-talked the security of that containment facility, and almost ripped your _face_ off. Tony Stark nearly dying from the mistake of a government agency, Avenger or not, is apparently bad for PR. The WSC isn't happy with him, and I guess that's our fault.”

“I didn't almost _die;_ it wasn't that bad. Besides, haven't you heard?” Tony grinned, though it felt a bit lop-sided. One corner of his mouth still didn't want to cooperate. “ _Everything_ is our fault. Particularly mine. I doubt it's personal. The council needs someone to blame, and Fury needs people to take it out on.”

“You were seriously hurt, trying to clean up _their_ mess _._ As far as I'm concerned, he can find another target.” Steve sat beside Tony on the mattress, tilting his chin to inspect the dressings on his cheek. Apparently liking what he saw, his shoulders slumped. He sighed, wrapping his arms around Tony's waist and pressing their foreheads together. “You really scared the daylights out of me today. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I can't feel _anything._ It's pretty great.” Tony kissed the tip of Steve's nose. “Can we go now?”

Steve chuckled indulgently. “We'll see what the doctor says, okay?”

In the end, Tony discovered the lacerations on his face were just the tip of the iceberg. He'd also fractured his cheekbone, lost two back teeth, and bruised several ribs. Once those were wrapped, Tony was given strict instructions to take it easy for the next couple of weeks, and a prescription for the strong stuff was sent to his pharmacy near the tower.

“The rest of the team is just finishing up. I'm gonna have them swing by and pick up dinner, and your prescriptions on the way home. What do you want? It'll have to be something light, but you're supposed to eat with the pain meds. The doctor said they could upset your stomach otherwise.”

Tony laughed. “This is so _domestic._ Quick, start a fantasy football league, and I'll yell at you to take out the trash.”

There was real amusement in the way Steve's eyes crinkled around the edges. Tony wanted to kiss them. So, he did, pecking each beautiful corner.

His lover scoffed, shaking his head with a smile. “Honestly, Tony. Do you ever quit?”

“Nope.” Tony held out his arms out expectantly. “Carry me?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What happened to, 'I can walk just fine, thanks?'”

“Well, now I don't want to. This took too long. Come on, honey bunch. I'm all light-headed. You don't want me to trip over something and _die,_ do you?” Tony questioned, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence.

“No. Can't have that, can we?” Steve's lips twitched, clearly holding back laughter. He scooped him up carefully, and Tony sagged against him, limp with exhaustion.

“Also, I can hear Agent Hill barking orders out there, and public displays of affection make her really uncomfortable.”

His lover _did_ laugh then – a full-bodied laugh that seemed to release all the tension he'd been holding, tight as a coiled spring. “You're evil.”

Tony grinned. “And you love me.”

Steve seemed to sober a bit. He tightened his arms around Tony, holding him close. “I do.” A pair of lips pressed into the top of his head. “I really do. You know that, right?”

Nobody had the ability to take one of his teasing comments and make it serious quite like Steve could. And it still left Tony breathless. Speechless, every single time. He rested his head on Steve's chest, straight over his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, I... I know.”

And Tony knew he wasn't obligated to say anything else. Steve would be content to just leave it at that. His words never came with a price. He said things because he meant them. No strings attached, even though the two of them hadn't been together very long.

But Tony couldn't be as free with his emotions as his lover could. Even just the thought was terrifying. Sure, it was one thing to display his charming, sarcastic wit. End every battle with a snide remark, but this was raw. Personal.

Steve said he understood, and Tony knew that was true. But at times like these, it seemed cheap, unfair to fall back on old insecurities. He deserved better. Hell, _Tony_ deserved better than to hold himself back, using ancient fears as a crutch.

Tony's life might have shaped him – at times left him fragmented and broken – but he had a blowtorch, and a soldering iron, and he wasn't afraid to use them. To reinvent himself, as he'd done time and time again.

“Steve?”

The super-soldier stroked his hair. “Hmm?”

When Tony finally replied, it was in a voice so small, it was barely more than a wisp of sound.

“Me too.”

His lover said nothing, merely pressed a kiss into his temple. Gently. As if he knew what it cost him to say it. And by the time they were being dropped off at Avengers tower, Tony's eyelids were drooping, the day's physical and emotional turmoil catching up with him. He allowed Steve to carry him inside and help him into more comfortable clothes. Then they laid down together on the couch in the common area.

Tony was barely aware as the super-soldier draped a blanket over them. He drifted pleasantly for a while – somewhere in that limbo plane between rest and actual sleep – and the gentle pull of Steve's fingers through his hair made him feel...safe. Loved.

He would have been just fine staying there forever – in Steve's arms, from now until the world ended, but it was not to be. Eventually, the sound of his team returning pulled him regretfully back to the land of the living.

His lover helped him sit up as the others gathered eagerly around them, each speaking so quickly, Tony couldn't make out a single word.

“Whoa, whoa, one at a time. I'm injured, remember? Speak slowly and enunciate.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, sitting on the arm of the couch behind Tony's head. “Good to see that winning personality is still intact.”

Hawkeye perched himself by Tony's feet. “You scared the shit out of me, dude. Maybe don't do that again. Aren't you 'Invincible' or something? Bruises and cuts are one thing, but you're not supposed to _bleed._ It's just wrong.”

“You should be more careful. We could have lost you!” Sam wrung his hands. “What if he'd _shot_ you?”

Tony felt a lump rise in his throat. “Guys. Come on. Don't be so dramatic. I'm fine now.” He tried to stand. “See? Perfectly...” The head-rush was too much as he got to his feet, and Tony stumbled, lifting a hand up to his forehead.

Hulk and Thor steadied him, one on either side.

After the warriors had him settled, Hulk picked up Tony's fallen blanket. He draped it carefully over his legs, as if he were handling one of his glass figurines and breaking it might be the worst thing ever. “For a guy who's supposed to be smart, you're kinda dumb.”

“These things cannot be rushed. Rest, my brother.” Thor placed a giant hand on Tony's shoulder, briefly cupping the good side of his face.

Tony absolutely did not get misty-eyed. He _didn't_. But they were making it very hard. Everybody was being so nice to him. People weren't _nice_ when he felt like crap. Tony Stark was never vulnerable. If one _found_ him vulnerable, they either took advantage of it, or they were idiots.

Apparently, the Avengers were idiots. And he'd never been happier to know a bunch of fools in his entire life.

“Anybody bloodies our Shellhead again, I might actually have to get serious. So, watch your back from now on, capiche?” Hawkeye grimaced, as if he found the thought distasteful. “You know I _hate_ serious.”

Tony didn't trust himself to speak. He picked at his dinner while the others argued over what movie they'd watch. And when his meds wore off an hour later, leaving him beating back those awful waves of agony, the Avengers – his family? – couldn't jump fast enough. Natasha snatched his pills from the counter, and Sam grabbed him some water. And as always, Steve held him, helping him sit up. Steadying his hands when they shook too much to hold the glass.

Tony told himself it didn't mean anything. That they were a team _,_ nothing more. But when he was forced to hide his face in Steve's thigh, arm thrown over his head, biting his lip to stifle the sounds, he couldn't find any other reason for the tears. Though he'd blame it on the pain, if anyone asked.

And he thought, if this _was_ it _._ If this was what families did: host late night movies, and take care of a friend when he's hurt, just because they want to? Because they care?

Looking back on his life now, Tony thought it was a shame.

If he'd ever known a love like that, he might stand to be worthy of theirs.


End file.
